


In Love with a Fairytale

by Roll



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Harry doesn't attend hogwarts, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel, Tom actually loves Harry, doesn't mean that everythings healthy about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roll/pseuds/Roll
Summary: Somehow no one noticed he was missing. Ten years they had supposed he was safe with his relatives, and it's not until the owls come back with the letters still attached that anyone looks. They search England, yet no sign can be found. Ten years ago, Harry Potter disappeared from the doorstep and no one’s seen him since. 
In 1941, Tom Riddle waits out the air raid in a small shelter, cramped in with numerous wailing muggles, expression a mask of indifference set in stone and if it's the tingle of powerful, untrained magic which interests him, it’s the green eyes that might keep him.
And Harry, however, never would have guessed his prince charming was the villain of his fairytale.





	1. Prelude - Whispers in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the interest.  
> I hope you enjoy the story.  
> (I don't own any rights to Harry Potter)

 

If there was one thing he despised most about the filthy muggle war, it was the apparent necessity of the evacuations. Trapped in a small underground room, being treated as if he was as weak and pathetic as the muggles surrounding him. It was late at night, maybe even early morning when the orphanage had been ushered out as the air raids began. Some members of the local area also occupied the same bunker. The younger children were wasting energy crying, achieving little but to irritate Riddle’s ears. To the side he stood leaning casually against the wall, mask a face of indifference. He wouldn’t even want to look around and have to bare witness to the shame of the weak muggles, however he was unfortunately close to one particularly loud and annoying child.

 

Turning, Riddle elegantly strode past the muggles to locate further away from the aforementioned child when he felt the brush of magic against his skin. Tom’s own magic tingled in excitement at the feeling of untrained, untainted powerful magic that harmonised so beautifully with his own. He wasn’t foolish enough to react beyond the slight widening of his eyes but continued walking to situated himself so he could inconspicuously observe the other magical being in the room. It was undoubtable fascinating to find such magic so compatible with his own.

 

Across the room was a small teen, perhaps his own age, if not younger. The other male was slim and starved as many had become with the war however he lacked the sickly appearance of drooping skin and shallowness that came with quick loses of food due to rationing. He was alone, leaning against the wall with his knees pulled against his chest, eyes down cast, black hair disheveled and people ignorant of his existence. Tom knew he wasn’t from the same orphanage, that much as certain, he knew each and every unsightly muggle there. Nor had the other received any magical training to have such uncontrolled raw power at his age.

 

He watched as the other's lips barely moved in a silent whisper, unhearable in the loud room. If he was muttering to himself, insanity was hardly a reason to be denied magical education, after all the Black family’s insanity ran generations deep. However it was more likely they’re extraordinary influence that keep them afloat and the vast wealth of the rich purebloods that accepted forced them to be accepted. Money too, which the boy clearly lacked did not seem to a factor in his non existing magical education. Tom himself had had no money to his name, disgustingly similar to many mudbloods. The boy also had far too much of a magical presence to be passed up on those grounds. 

* * *

 

Minerva McGonagall was normally a calm, rational women who was educated to the highest degree, and cared deeply for all her students, past, present and future. So when the first owl baring Harry Potter’s letter refused to even set flight, she was worried. 

 

And then when the next owl took off only to return the next day, letter unopened and untouched, she stormed Albus’ office, determined to get answers, only to be sent away with assurance someone would look into it and it was probably nothing. Unimpressed, she knew when to push her luck, two times was not enough proof of anything awry. 

 

However, it would never be enough to assure her. Harry was Lily and James child, and a child none the less, worrying for him was her right and duty.

 

* * *

 

 

Slowly Tom could feel it. A tingling in his nerves, a pulse in his blood and a warmth in his core. A pure magic was slowly engulfing the room, protective and hopeful in nature. He could almost see it radiating off the boy, gifting purity and safety. Despite the care placed into the magic, there was a bitter aftertaste of worry and panic. Every aspect of the magic was calling him, and Tom found the boy undeniably alluring in ways he couldn’t explain. Like the boy was cry out for him, and waiting for him, pulling him in. He found himself crossing the room quietly to comfort the boy, crouching down, he reached out to take the other hand that rested on his leg.

Magic sparked, swirled and harmonised like a beautiful symphony. The other's cheeks flushed and breath caught. Brilliant green found dark blue and Tom found himself captivated Completely and utterly captivated. Never before had he felt the need to comfort or care of another. Cupping the boys face, the boy leaned into Tom's hand as he brushed his hair back, a whisper and promise leaving in his lips.

In the midst of wailing sirens,  crying children, gas-lit darkness and the sound of city wide destruction he had meet perfection, power and beauty that would one day be his.


	2. Chapter One- Nothing is Impossible with Magic

The smaller boy shivered, taking deep breaths to calm and steady himself. Tom could feel the other’s magic cling to him desperately. The other reached up, holding the hand that cupped his face, “Thank you,” he whispered gently, voice etched with sincerity. 

 

Tom could hardly believe he was showing so much empathy towards the unknown boy, and at the same time was unbothered -both by the physical contact he initiated and the vast emotions displayed by the boy. Normal he found such actions weak and meaningless, but this was anything but. It was important, every reaction the boy made. And the power the he had magically and over Tom was beyond weak. It was overwhelming. “What is your name?” he wondered out loud, ignoring the boys thanks. It was more important to decipher who this teen was.

 

“I’m Harry Potter,” he muttered, and Tom’s fascination grew. Potter was both a dying pureblood name, and yet a common muggle name. With potent magic, he would lean towards pureblood, but it was unheard for Potter’s to disown family members and with numbers so low even a bastard child would have been a needed addition to the family.  “I came from a convent down in the East End,” Harry added. It was highly unlikely any member of the prestigious Potter family would be anywhere near the East End.

 

During every second, the flow of magic was present in the connection. Conveying every emotion that Harry experienced. From the nervousness of the shelter and raid, to comfort of Tom’s touch and the panic when he tried to remove his hands. Harry’s face was an easy read. His eye’s widened and his lips parted as to protest Tom’s movement. Magic sparked with worry. However when Tom situated himself in front of Harry and re-took his hands, he calmed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured again, clasping Tom’s hands, “Air raids worry me, that’s all.”

 

“It’s no matter,” he responded in his most charming voice “Let me introduce myself, I am Tom Riddle.”

 

“Oh, you’re very proper,” the Harry said quietly to himself, loud enough for Tom to hear nevertheless.

 

He let a brief smirk cross his face, “Hardly. You’ll find I can be anything but.”

 

Harry smiled a little in return, “Well with a smirk like that, maybe I judged you too soon.”

  
“Well you will find me to be a complex being. I however are far more interested in you.”  said Riddle with a pleasant smile, “So very interested. So tell me Harry, the East End is quite far from here, and this area too leaves something to be desired, what brought you here?” Innocent curiosity was passable excuse.

 

Tom watched with attention as Harry glanced down timidly at their joined hands, and Tom wondered how much the other could sense him. It was undeniable that the other could feel Tom’s magic and the way they combined but Tom was much more in control of his emotions especially compared the expressiveness of the other.  Green eyes flickered back up to Tom’s face before he sighed. “I was raised in the convent after they found me when I was about one. There was an odd letter left with me. The police eventually just dismissed it as a crazed excuse to abandon me and as it named me Harry Potter it's the name I took up,” the other shrugged looking slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed. A nod from Tom encouraged him to continue. “They weren’t completely unpleasant, the nuns that is, just very strict I guess. And then recently a shell hit the building. Luckily, no one was injured but they had to move. I was going to be transferred out but I just got up and left. Found myself here.” Harry shrugged again.

 

A runaway orphan wasn’t something new. Especially from the East End. A letter though would offer insight, “This letter what did it say?” he questioned.

 

“Nothing much. It was address to people that didn’t exist and had my supposed parents names but no one who matched them. And well... Ramblings about magic,” Harry blushed embarrassed. “But of course there’s no such thing as magic. It was clearly just a reason to leave me.” Tom could feel it. It was if the boy was almost ashamed or guilty for even mentioning it.

 

Tom grasped Harry’s hands tightly and pulled him forward so Harry was leaning close, “You know that’s a lie,” he whispered. They were already talking in hushed voices, going unnoticed by the others in the room. “You can feel this. The tingling in your nerves and the sparks in the air. This is our magic, it’s reactionary. You can not tell me unexplainable things haven’t happened to you,” Tom’s tone was harsh, and left no room for dispute.

 

“...Impossible...,” Harry breathed and Tom was surprised he could even say that much.

 

With a smirk and chuckle, Tom challenged him, “Really? Because nothing is impossible with magic.” Harry looked shocked, before he too laughed.

 

“I guess you can't deny this,” He pulled his hands apart from Tom’s and it felt as the air was thicker. He reached out again, interwove their fingers and the flare of magic was back.

 

“Yes the connection is powerful magic and quite odd i must admit.” Tom thought out loud.  “Probably a result of your lack of training despite your power.”

 

“Training, like you have a school?” he wondered.

 

“Yes of course. There is an central magical community in London, and small out shoots over the entirety of Britain.” he explained, looking at Harry with a queer look on his face “You though, are so curious, I have never heard of leaving a wizard untrained.”

 

“Stay with me,” Tom proposed.

 

“Stay? Why?” Queried Harry taken back by the bluntness.

  
“It’s not like you have anyone. I’ll discuss it with the head of the orphanage.” Harry appeared shocked by the news Tom resisted in an orphanage. “I have the knowledge to train you until I can work out why you were not noticed” The depth of shared magic was too deep, and the other was an opportunity for power. Tom felt greedy and excited the same way he did when he had found magic was real. It was as the boy had already bewitched him before he could even use magic correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who comment, left kudos, bookmarked ect. on the last chapter.  
> I am so incredibly thankful of you positive reactions.  
> Also I replied to all the comments, but am I meant to thread them? Idk.  
> But once again Thank you so much.  
> If you liked this chapter please comment kudo ect.  
> Advice and criticism welcome.  
> Thank you.  
> Once finials are over (Australian university's) updates should be longer.


	3. Chapter Two-Past and Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry but I've forgot to mention that Pottermore says Tom was born December 31 1926 and as this is set currently the break of 1941 it makes Tom 14 going on 15. Some commenters have said they were at a loss regarding their ages and i would like to apologise for any confusion i have made. They will of course age as the story progresses.  
> I should also mention it's both the books and the movies as I've read/see both so some things it just which I remember.  
> Thank you all for the kind words and i hope you enjoy this chapter.

It had taken a great deal of charm and charisma to convince Mrs. Cole on letting Harry stay. She, like all at the orphanage, had known Tom as a child when he lacked the brains to disguise himself behind fake smiles and manipulated truths. He had known the from the moment Dumbledore set foot on the premises - lying that he was a relative of Tom's - that she confided that Tom was a concerning child. Mrs. Cole had seen the worst and most bitter parts of him as he grew. She knew of the fear he instilled in the other children, and never understood how someone so young was so influential.

 

Thankfully since the time he returned from his first year at Hogwarts, Tom had carefully cultivated a new perception of himself. Politeness towards the other children had gone far, even more so then faked empathy for those around him. He had gone as far as upon returning from his second year apologised for any actions he did as a child. She fell nicely into his trap but still knew of his shown past. Careful words and sad explanations of Harry's likeness to his own situation had persuaded her.

 

As the night passed Harry had quickly fallen asleep against the wall in the gap of him manipulating Mrs. Cole. Harry's apparent weakness and charm had also sway her into letting him stay. Tom explained as he himself was away most of the year, taking in Harry would hardly be a strain.

 

It was the next morning and it seemed Harry was as greatly relieved as Tom was to be free from the shelter. Harry chattered merrily, stretching in the warm summer sun, apparently enjoying the rays. He explained that often he would garden and tend of the vegetables down in the convent. Speaking of how he loved to be free of the stuffy indoors.

 

Tom had be concerned, oddly enough, that after the sun rose and a new day dawned the connection he and Harry shared would be diminished or faded. However, he found himself being warmed by the happiness wafting off the other in pleasant waves. Not worried by the nonsense that Harry was speaking about the summer. Tom was distinctly pale compared to Harry's darkened skin, the difference in pleasurable activities apparent.

 

Harry did not seem off put by the cold stone walls or thin mattresses of the orphanage. Instead, he stayed close by Tom and almost vibrating with excitement. “The more I think about this,” Harry said softly, “the more I can't believe it's real,” but before he could respond Harry reached out, touching the bare skin of his arm. Harry laughed happily as Tom jumped at the suddenly vibrant magical connection that felt like a jolt of electricity running through him.

 

“Do you mind?”  Tom grumbled, annoyed at his own liking of Harry's laugh.

 

“Why not at all,” responded the other cheerfully. The difference was night and day between the boy he had met last night.

 

“How old are you to act like such a child?”

 

“Fifteen,”  he shrugged

 

“You can not possibly mean that you are older than me,” it was a ridiculous notion that the other much small, immature boy was older than him

 

“Nothings impossible with magic,” Harry said smartly, with an air of smugness echoing Tom's words last night.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“You mean you lost the boy?”

 

Snape stood stiffly on one side of Dumbledore’s office, face displaying his annoyance as he scowled. McGonagall reflected his posture, but her face was a mix of worry and anger at the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat behind his desk impassive, but with the look of fake exhaustion -to the two that knew him well. Everyone knew of the outrage and scandal that would emerge when the news broke that the ‘Boy who Lived’ was missing.

 

And by Albus Dumbledore’s recount, be apparently missing for the last ten years. “His relatives have not seen him, ever. More so, were unconcerned with the whereabouts of their nephew,”

 

Severus snorted unsurprised. Petunia hadn't been on the best of terms with her sister before her dead. McGonagall was far more vocal with her discontentment, “I had told you they were the worst kind of muggles. He never should have been left, let alone not checked on for ten years. James and Lily's son is missing. An eleven-year-old child has been forgotten for ten years, doing who knows what, who knows where! In the worst case, I hate to even think it, he could be dead.”

 

“Now Minerva,” Dumbledore broke into her rant for it escalated further,  “Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. The boy is more than likely alive, and is at this point just missing. There's no evidence for support anything. The Aurors have been notified and a search is underway. I would also like Severus to join the search. Our biggest problem at the moment is that the prophet will be over this story by tomorrow,”

 

She couldn't hold herself back, “Your biggest worry is bad publicity? And how do you expect Severus to not only teach and brew, but looks for a missing child?”

 

“Forgive me, but I do believe I have better things to do then search for a missing brat. Undoubtedly you have talked Moody into searching and I would hope he is more than capable of finding the child.” the potion master stated, far less surprised at Albus suggestions. It was the man's usual attitude.

  


“I know it seems like a push, but I am confident in Severus’ abilities to manage. He would be a great asset to the search,” explained Dumbledore skipping over the entirety of the publicity issue, now knowing not to address that section with McGonagall. “We have little less than two months until the children arrive for Hogwarts and I hope to have him back in time for the start of school,”

 

“I hope so too,” McGonagall mutters as she leaves the room more annoyed than ever.

  


* * *

* * *

 

Tom lent back against the wall and couldn't believe how taken he was by the other, to be putting up with such actions. Normally it would be intolerable and insufferable but Harry's freeness was endearing, and it feed is magic.  The boy was more than likely at least a half-blood like himself. The letter confirmed that much but the little information Tom had heard. He resisted the urge to press more deeply to discover the other secrets of his existence.

  
Harry was sat on Tom's bed, legs crossed, and book in his hands. He was hunched harshly over an introductory book on functions of potion ingredients. It would be an easy start and pure memorization. Tom watched as he squinted at the words, nose almost touching the page. Reading shouldn't have been an issue for someone who grew up with nuns. More than likely Harry would have read the bible front to back at least once in his life. Nuns too were forceful about education. If there was one thing he should be good at, it should be reading.  
  
"Harry" he called, gaining the others attention as he approached, sitting down on the bed halfway turned to him. Harry looked up and rubbed his eyes fiercely, partially scrubbing at them. “Do you have issues reading?” he asked kindly as possible, hoping to gain an easy response that way.  
  
Harry shook his head, nervous waves flowing off him. "No of course not... Everything's just blurry, that's all"  
  
"Everything?”  
  
"Anywhere. But if I get close enough to the page I can see what is says" It was obvious then the boy need glasses. One fault, Tom noticed, the Potter line carried with them. Sight problems were significantly less of an issue compared to some pureblood faults. Many showed signs and symptoms of the inbreeding of generations. The Lestrange’s and Black’s insanity. Crabbe’s and Goyle’s mental capabilities were significantly low. Others had mental and physical characteristics were less than charming or blood traitor nature insufferable. Some rumoured to bare blood curses. The Malfoy’s had really been one of the few to continue without issues, as the would marry half-bloods every few generations. It kept their blood pure, whilst uncorrupted by problems that plague other blood lines. The main issue though it seemed, was the rather dominant self-preservation trait the Malfoys possessed.

 

Harry shifted in his seat causing the metal bedframe to creak. Sighing Tom knew glasses was an expense that couldn't be paid for, “Then you will need glasses,” he stated.

 

Nodding, Harry seemed unsurprised, “I know, but wouldn't the magical world have a spell?” he gestured to the book in his lap

 

“No, not that I have learnt” he had yet to really have explained anything. He gave the excuse he didn't know where to start, which was true, but he also needed to think it through. “Most potions or spells act on repairing to the original state of health before an injury. But if condition is pre-existing then they will not work as it is already embedded in the original state of the cells,” Tom stated shortly.

 

Harry nodded thoughtfully and Tom could almost see him store the information in his mind of later as Harry continued on a different track of questioning, “What is the school like that you attend?”

 

“The school is called Hogwarts and is in a large old unplottable castle in Scotland. Outwardly to muggles- non-magical people- it appears abandoned. There is four houses at Hogwarts, in the first year you are sorted into them and you either earn or lose points by your actions. I, myself, am in Slytherin the house of Snakes. Compulsory classes are Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy and Herbology, all of which I excel in. There is a book, Hogwarts; A History which most mudbloods would read, that explains in more detail information. For example, the ceiling in Great Hall is charmed to reflect the sky and the staircases have a tendency to move,” Harry's eyes were wide as he listened on to the description of moving stair; ghosts and other feats of magic. Of course, it all sounded outlandish and foolishly fake when said out loud. It seemed much less ridiculous as a eleven-year-old child.

 

But Tom had always known he was magic. It was a part of him which defined who he was. He had been able to control and harness it as long as he could remember. Snakes would always be drawn to him, and he could seek painful revenge on anyone who crossed him. Much to the dislike of the magical world, the darker more intimately alluring magic called to him. It was another factor the caused Harry to be an enigma. The boys magic was bright and pure, flowing uncontrolled and uncorrupted from him. It warmed and caressed everything it touched. The fact it melded so perfectly to his despite the difference was drawing.

 

Look out the window, he noted the time vaguely and sighed, “breakfast will be serving soon.” Tom stood, swiping the book from Harry's lap and stored in safely in his trunk. None of the other orphans would dare enter his room though. He may have put on the facade of kind indifference but they still knew not to cross him.

 

Down in the dining room, breakfast was a measly slice of bread and egg, unlike Hogwarts who still produced copious amounts of food for every meal. Rationing, even with a both a muggle and wizarding war in Europe, did not seem to affect them.

  
Harry seemed by far, more adapt to socialising then Tom. He spoke sweetly to the younger children as if his magic was able to charm and warm them. Tom, however, ran a ‘no speaking to him except when necessary’ policy with the others. They had grown accustomed to the elder boy, who was educated in a posh boarding school through cold months. They, the other children, may have gotten an apology but they too hadn't forgotten his actions. Thankfully even they were not that foolish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you! to everyone who commented, subscribed, kudo's ect on the last chapter.  
> Thank you so much for reading. Please comment, subscribe, kudos etc. if you liked it.  
> Criticism and advise welcome.


	4. Chapter Three-Happiness and Panic

The skies echoed with the beating of plane engines, German identifiable from the distinctive engine beat, and the sirens howled as they were rushed down the steps. It had been some three weeks since Tom had met Harry. Weeks of absorbing the vibrant and colourful of both the personality and magic of the boy. It was the very early morning of day that Tom was due to depart for Hogwarts again. It was only in those moments that the spell that was Harry was broken. It was a particular heavy raid and Harry was not fairing well.

 

There had been a couple of raids in the weeks since they met, neither too terrible or too close unlike the one that had brought them together. It was in reality, the calm before the storm that was then raging outside. After all, the Blitz had officially been cancelled in May and it was then late August.

* * *

 

 

Early that year, Tom and Harry had taken a trip to central London. Miss Cole had been reluctant to let them go, the crises of the war had left London in shambles, and even though cheap, the train ticket was still a cost. Travelling was only recommended for necessity, the Nuns at Harry's old residents had deemed glasses not one. However, Harry's usefulness around the orphanage had won favour and they were sent out on an early morning, to be home by 4 pm as not to take up room on the train for the wartime workers. They were given exactly enough money for the train and had a packed lunch with them. Tom was given permission to go along as he knew London station best from travelling for school and was clearly the person closest to Harry.

 

As per usual, Harry was far more excited about the whole trip than Tom was. Harry though, was never discouraged by Tom’s natural blank expression, that being said Harry had probably seen the most emotion, aside from anger, Tom had ever produced. It pained Tom a little to admit it, but Harry had actually brought a sense of happiness and contentment to his usual bitter life. Harry was open and free with his emotions, expressed his thoughts and opinions and open about his past life, despite the fact living in a convent was not particularly exciting or interesting - the irony was that Harry was the most interesting thing in Tom’s life. Harry explained he would mostly help around the building, and even with the constant exposure to religion, he never connected to the beliefs. Harry said he remembers having a strong memory of about five, borrowing a picture book from another boy on the Arthurian tales, being sent to repentance for hours and going to bed without dinner. He was told never to being Pagan stories into the building again. “Now I know it is probably the main reason it was never actually home,” Harry had laughed, “You know, besides it being a convent.”

* * *

 

Tom had been slightly perplexed at the ease that Harry had accepted he was magic. Of course, he could feel in every fibre of his body, the existence of Harry’s magic. And despite telling Harry, that it was undeniable he had magic, so few words normally would not have swayed a fifteen-year-old boy. That was until Tom actually observed Harry in the day to day life. The magic that Tom could feel flowing off Harry into himself, had also extended into Harry’s actions. A pen that would have normally rolled off the desk froze in mid air. If they were outside walking, and it began raining, it was as if every drop of rain missed the boy. Tea stayed warm even when forgotten in place of reading, and discussing animagus’ late into the night. How the boy had gone unnoticed was disconcerting and something Tom would research when he returned to Hogwarts. Harry’s untrained magic was overflowing but accidental magic stopped appearing so accidental. In the garden, Harry could will the fruit ripe with a happy smile on his face as he would turn to look at Tom triumphantly, and Tom could feel the almost smug happiness rolling off Harry in waves. Harry was aware that most magic required a wand, Tom’s locked away in his trunk and the only magical artefact of Tom’s off limits to Harry. Those little acts of magic were clearly an act of defiance on Harry’s behalf. Even if it was directed towards Tom, the self-satisfied look on Harry’s face was oddly pleasing.

 

Still, at times, Tom felt a bitter taste in his mouth, jealous at Harry’s abilities. That feeling was often quickly replaced by Harry’s happiness and the pure joy emanating off the other. Late at night, when Harry would sneak into his room, potion book clasped tightly in his arms, taking a seat at the end of Tom’s bed and chattering excitedly at something he had read, Tom felt an affection and comfort he never had felt before. Harry was something Tom was not going to let go of. He was far too interesting and fascinating to let him go.

* * *

 

 

The station was small, a line for each direction, but even during the war, it was surprisingly busy for the local train station.  People were boarding as they neared the station, Tom was surprised when Harry grabbed his arm and made a run for the closing doors of the train. They received disappointed looks from a couple of women on the train yet to sat down in a cabin, as the had managed just to slip onto the train, clearly, not having purchased a ticket. Tom smirked, Harry’s slight rebelliousness was refreshing, specifically in the conformist muggle environment that's exacerbated by the war. They found a cabin, joining an old couple that was already seated in the train. Tom remained silent, seeing no reason to be pleasant to people he would never see again. Harry exchanged pleasantries with the old women of the couple who asked them what they were doing, before monologuing on her past. Thankfully, the old couple left a few stations later, leaving the compartment to the pair.

 

Idle conversation extended the train trip. Tom explained the concept of platform 9 3/4 and Diagon alley much to Harry’s amazement until they reached London, where Harry who had never visited, spent most of the time narrating the scenery outside.They snuck off the train station, avoiding the station guards. The optometrists were near the station, Tom had seen it before, the first time he had been to Diagon alley. Harry stared enviously as the passed the Leaky cauldron before he laughed, and Tom followed his gaze to see a group enter with clearly wizard clothes. “They’re not very good at blending in,” Harry whispered. 

 

Tom agreed with that sentiment, but did clarify “It’s worse because you know they not muggles” 

 

The optometrist was a large distinctive shop, being underage, it was lucky all free. Tom waited outside while Harry went into the doctor. Thirty minutes later, Harry emerged and was fitted with circular glasses. Tom thought they looked ridiculous personally but kept it to himself. He didn't want to bring Harry, who apparently could finally actually see what Tom looked like. As Harry looked at himself in the mirror he ran his hand through his hair, glanced back at Tom and mumbled, “Wow, my hair's a mess.” And then glared when he heard Tom snicker

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

But now Tom could already feel Harry's worry. They had been sitting in Tom's room, where they had spent most of their free time. Harry would be reading one of his books, asking questions every now and then. Despite the lack of past knowledge, books meant to eleven-year-olds were a quick read a fifteen-year-old, and relatively easy to grasp. Tom spent most of it writing the long and tedious essays assigned to him for the break. It was easier to use Tom’s room for two reasons. Firstly that the books and tools were already located in his room. Secondly, Harry's charming nature had infected the entire orphanage.

 

It has began from the very moment Harry met people. From the little boy, he gave some of his bread to the girl he helped finish her work. He cleaned up after every meal even when it wasn't his duty. His ability to mend clothing endeared him to Mrs. Cole who welcomed help. Harry had explained it was normal when he lived with the nuns, who were mostly old women for whom he did a lot of the housework to help them. He and the nuns had knitted and sewn for charity events, and local children so he was quite skilled. Furthermore, Harry stated it was right to help and aid people. Tom, of course, did not share his opinions. He couldn't care less for the others. The only person he was interested in was Harry.

 

As a result, it was only the fear of Tom that had kept them away from Harry most of the time. At one point when Harry had ducked out to get a glass of water, Tom noted it was taking an oddly long time. Pushing away from his desk, he quietly strolled down the hallway, listening out he heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen. Silently approaching, he listened from outside the doorway. Inside, he could hear the voice of Billy Stubbs. Tom had once hung his rabbit from the rafter after a fight and was consequently Stubbs held a strong dislike towards him that Tom reciprocated. Stubbs though was also the most skilled at avoiding Tom since that time. It wasn’t a surprise that he was trying to cross Tom, however it was a little unexpected he didn’t wait for Tom to leave for school. Apparently, Tom had overestimated his intelligence, muggles were more useless than anticipated.

 

“He’s sick and disturbed. I’m telling you to stay away from him,” Stubbs was saying. Tom resisted the urge to hex him, but the muggle scum was not worth getting kicked out of Hogwarts and having his wand snapped. “I’m just trying to help you out.” Of course, the muggle thought he was doing right by Harry despite the fact the only thing Harry needed was magic, and there by Tom to teach him.

  
That being said, Tom had no idea how Harry was going to react. They were by no means long time assured allies even with the trust Tom had cultivated, both intentionally, and by automatic reactions towards the boys magic. “Excuse me, but the only person I’m having issues with is yourself.” It sounded almost if Harry had scoffed at ridiculousness statement, and magic pricked Tom’s skin. Apparent Harry was both upset and annoyed, if not angry. “Now I must be returning. My present company is quite unpleasant at the moment.” Judging by the length of time Harry had been gone, and the tone of his voice this conversation had lasted longer necessary, seemingly because Harry remained completely unfazed. 

 

The sound of a glass being set on sink harder the needed was heard, and undoubtedly Harry was preparing to leave while Tom was about to sneak away unnoticed but Stubbs had to have the last words, “Oh, I see you’re a little freak like him,” he spat in viciously, disgust undisguised and laced with hate.

 

The sentence had Tom seeing red. Stubbs had dared insult the other. As Tom slammed open the door in anger, leaving a mark in the wooden door, the glass objects in the room shattered. At first, Tom had presumed it was his own magic that caused the loud rupture of glass, however, the displeasure radiating from Harry told a different story. It explained the unintentional magic as a result of emotion. Harry seemed to be frozen silent and still was anger, leaving Tom to confront the Stubbs.

 

“How dare you,” Tom almost hissed, as the other looked around in confusion, only to cower as he heard Tom's voice. Tom advanced, towering over the other is he spoke softly but in sharp hisses, “It will do you well to hold your tongue, and if not I will see that you will never speak again,” 

 

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Miss Cole stormed into the room to see broken glass everywhere, Harry standing off to the side and Tom looming over a cowering Stubbs. When she started yelling at them it was hard to tell what she was saying. She let Harry go with a few harsh words, telling him if he was to continue to stay he would need a job. Harry left reluctantly, glancing at Tom, apologies in his eyes.

* * *

 

 

It had been a long time since Tom had been caned, but if failed to bring the desired humiliation and regret, and was well worth the satisfaction of putting fear back into the muggle. The caning itself, each and every time, only solidified his hatred. His hands stung as he returned to his room. Inside, Harry was waiting for him and he jumped to his feet, rushing over. It was clear to see that he was worried, even before he gargled out words of worry. Never before had anyone cared for his well being or pain. In the time that they had been separated Harry had fetched a basin of water for the washroom. Gently he applied a cooled wash cloth to Tom's hands, easing the stinging sensation. Tom observed the array of emotion playing openly on Harry’s face as he fussed over Tom's hands. He didn’t realise he was staring until Harry looked up, catching his gaze. It was always shocking how beautifully green Harry’s eyes were whenever their eyes met. 

 

Feeling far too oddly enthralled by the other, Tom blew a sharp gust of air into Harry’s eyes, receiving the desired reaction of squinting and blinking. “W-what?” Harry stuttered confused to the usually impassive Tom. Harry rubbed his face to remove the water building in his eyes, in the process brushing his hair back giving Tom a glimpse of the scar that hid beneath the mess of a fringe. 

 

Reaching out with his undamaged fingertips, Tom combed the hair back, surveying the scar. It was engraved deep and filled with an exceptional magic. “How did you get this?” Tom muttered, entranced with curiosity. 

 

Harry moved back from Tom’s reach and shaking his hair back down over the mark, Harry explained, “I’ve always had it and I’m not particularly fond of it, so I keep it covered” he ran his fingers through his hair making sure the scar was completely covered. It was easy for Tom to ignore the pain in his fingers when something more interesting was presented in front of him. 

 

Days after that, Tom’s letter from Hogwarts arrived. It was who saw it at the window, letter in beak, “Tom,” he started, getting up to open the window as the owl had started clawing at the window, “there's an owl here with a letter.” The owl, that was meant to be trained to reject anyone other than the sender and receiver, cooed happily as Harry scratched its neck and dropping the letter. 

 

Tom came over and picked up the parchment. The bird satisfied with the fact that Tom had got his letter, nipped at Harry's fingers and took off. “It’s the book list from Hogwarts,” Tom said as he ripped off the seal and Harry looked on. As he pulled out the list, a small metal badge dropped onto the window frame. Tom wasn’t really surprised by the appointment to prefect given his perfect record, flawless grades and his head of house’s liking towards him, however, he wouldn’t doubt Dumbledore put up some resistance towards the action. He was pleased moving around the castle should be easier now as he was able to have free roam out of hours. Slughorn for the past years had proven lenient towards Tom, and the man hadn’t even blinked when Tom requested access to the restricted section, the new appointment was just further proof of the trust he had built. Fortunately, no matter how annoying Slughorn could be his usefulness outweighed that.

 

Harry was far more excited at Tom's appointment to prefect after it was explained what the badge meant. Everything was new and interesting to the other but that didn't mean Tom didn't enjoy the sudden spike of energised magic coming off the other as he rambled away congratulations.

 

* * *

 

But now, with the sunset and engines of the German planes above them, all the bright happiness that was Harry had disappeared. The bleak shell of a boy that Tom had met the first night had reappeared. They were rushed down the stairs and told to make their way down to the shelter. Tom and Harry were nearly out the front door when Harry clammed up. Children younger than Tom were forced to sleep in the shelters, it was far too hard to evacuate them, and, the others had left already, having cleared quickly leaving their objects in place. Tom, however, had taken his time to return the books to their hiding place, and Harry waited anxiously at the door. He could tell Harry was extremely worried, the twitching of joints and the nervous magic rolling off him. When he lead the way out in front of Tom, his clumsiness-induced by fear was apparent as he walked awkwardly and almost slipped on the steps. It was Tom's quick reactions that stopped him falling. It was Tom that had to shove Harry into action.

 

Grasping the other's hand he tugged him down the dark street. Nearby the sky was alight with flames and search lights. A close sound was deafening and the windows on the houses shattered at the shock. In reflex they both crouched down, covering their faces. Magic or not, Tom knew he couldn’t avoid being slashed by the glass if it hit him. It was pathetic he had to be reduced to huddling on the ground.  looking up from the ground, his ears were ringing but Harry was still hunched over, shaking with nerves. As Tom stood, he pulled the other trembling boy up with him. Looking directly into the green eyes, their hands joined Tom had yet to released from where he had pulled Harry off the ground. Tom saw in those green eyes and felt as the worry and panic swept away, replaced with calmness Tom was gifting him 

 

When they arrived at the shelter, Harry had completely hidden his fear from his face, instead he took to calming the other children as they heard the chaos beyond the walls. Kind words and gentle hugs, and within two hours they were asleep. Harry, himself however, sunk down against the wall to beside where Tom was sitting, a mixture of nervousness and worry radiating off him. It was like the first night he had met Harry all over again. Harry was retreating into a little personal bubble. Tom was not the most comforting person, he was well aware of that but nevertheless, he grabbed Harry’s hand that was resting in between each other. At first, Harry flinched, before he clasped Tom’s hand tightly and Tom could tell he was soothing. While they didn’t sleep that night, and Harry never completely relaxed they managed to pass the night.

  
The next morning the returned to the orphanage, the streets around had windows blown out. Thankfully the orphanage was untouched. Tom however, had to return upstairs and grabbed his bag. He was leaving his old books with Harry as he returned to school. Harry walked with Tom to the station, despite the dark circles under Harry’s eyes, he thanked Tom and waved as he left for Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  
> I want to thank you so much for commenting. Really, I appreciate it. Like really.  
> Any feedback positive and negative is appreciated.


	5. Chapter Four- To Return Home

Sitting at the centre of the Slytherin table, Tom gazed across the room, watching the sorting of the new first years. He clapped politely as new students joined Slytherin, he had the appearance of a kind, diligent prefect to keep up. For the new students, and to the teachers especially.  All the children that joined this year to Slytherin, as most years, were pureblood. Not unexpected. Headmaster Dippet, stood, speaking about unity and wishing all a good year at Hogwarts. To Dippet’s right sat Dumbledore, Tom could see the tell-tale sparkle in his eyes and avoided the gaze. Dumbledore was the one teacher who Tom could never charm. Dumbledore had met him at the orphanage and seen the hate Tom had to muggles. The charming, yet poor orphan act would fail to win the other over now, Tom knew he had made a mistake showing his true self back in 1938. He was not sure to the extent that Dumbledore suspected his nature, or if he really knew anything. For now, Tom sat surrounded by his “friends”, or more accurately his supporters. Thugs or gang might also be an accurate description of the relationship between Tom and the others. But such crass words aren't what Tom is aiming for. But the most important aspect was that they were subservient, some seeking greater wealth, others power, or notoriety and fame. Each knew their place below him, and knew never to breathe a word to anyone about their secrets. Deeds were to be done, and none linked back to them.

 

As the great welcoming feast fell before them, Tom’s mind cast back towards Harry, and not for the first time that day. At Hogwarts, it had been easy to forget a war waged in the muggle world. Normally, the thoughts of the muggle world would never cross his mind when he was at Hogwarts. But today, he looked around and noticed the disparity. The train sold sweets and chocolates like they were cheap commodities, and the hall was filled with more food than the town back home would ever hope to see that month. Tom avoided the bread, the only thing on the table not rationed back in muggle England. Tom did not have to look to know the mudbloods were taken back by the sight. Sitting in his own cheap, second-hand clothes, he made every effort towards perfect neatness and sophistication. There was no hiding his socio-economic standing, but his gifts, looks and power would ensure no comment. The threat of his existence was proven after the first night of his first year, the hexing of a sixth-year gang to the hospital wing prevented any comments of that nature.

 

Being Fourth year prefect, Tom and his fellow prefect, Martineau Traver, her brother in the upper years, escorted the first years down to the common room. They gave the same pre-arranged speech that Tom had received in his first year and heard given all years after.

 

Retiring to his dorm, it was like returning home. He was free to move with his magic, practice without restraint, and without the threat of expulsion. Tom never fully unpacks, even if Hogwarts is home. It felt almost unnatural. His quills and parchment were all that’s on display. The rest of his possessions are his alone and for no one else’s eyes. Besides Harry’s, he amends internally, who had access to his trunk for books. And that being said, his appointment to prefect had gained him an individual room, after all the dungeons has plenty of empty rooms in the first place, it's more an incentive than a space saver. Tom takes his time warding, and re-warding his possessions. The habit relaxes him before he turned in for the night.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was at breakfast the next morning that one answer is revealed to him, by accident. Edwin Nott’s, whose father is a part of the Ministry of Magic, made a snide comment in regards to a mudbloods failed attempt at a spell over on the Ravenclaw table, “If the ministry isn't tracing the mudbloods now, you'd think they'd at least learn a spell,” he muttered to Ivan Rosier next to him.

 

Tom didn't react. Lack of knowledge was a sign of weakness. Roiser, however, did respond, “Practice doesn’t make up for bad blood,” he scoffed, at the failed Charm attempt “And how would you know they aren’t traced anymore,” He turned a judgemental eye to Nott.

 

Nott returned the glare, “My father works at the Ministry...” and Tom tuned them out when the conversation turned family occupations, an argument Tom had heard between the two before. More information wouldn’t be been gained now they turned down that route. Tom had some better things to get to anyway. Sitting near a pointless argument was not how he was going to spend his free period.

 

Rising, he headed to leave the great hall, only to be stopped by a group Slytherin first years, asking nervously to show them to the potions room. It was, after all, Tom’s role as prefect to direct them around the school. Smiling charmingly as possible, “Of course, follow me,” he replied, turning. It always benefited to disillusion the first years. And Slughorn would more than likely see him. Annoying as Slughorn was, he had connections and gave Tom what he wanted.

 

Tom was proven correct when he reached the potions room, Slughorn immediately greeted and latched on. “Tom, my boy, how are you? Please, come in, a quick word before my class starts”

 

“Hello sir, I am well. Thank you for your consideration for my appointment to prefect.”

 

“Yes, yes, that's no matter. All the teachers know of your brightness.” Slughorn drew him up to the front of the room, as the Slytherin first years took their seats, speaking amongst themselves. “Of course, especially I. That is why, I’m informing you that there is meeting tomorrow night, the usual time, of the particularly gifted students. I was hoping you would attend, and inform Mr. Avery and Mr. LeStrange also,”

 

“It would be my pleasure, Professor.” It would not. Tom found the events rather a waste of time, and quite annoying to entertain Slughorn for hours. During class, he merely had to do his work, answer a few questions and then one comment on Slughorn's great teaching and he'd be out. Slug club meetings would drag on, useless chatter, and bad company.

 

The next night, Tom’s thoughts were proven correct. Slughorn droned on about his insightful research, that truly was uninteresting and unsuccessful, was progressing. The only thing gained that night was a box of chocolate Slughorn gifted them all in thanks. As Tom returned to his room, he went to throw the box away, ahead of going on his rounds, before a thought caught him. Instead, he quickly penned a note, shrunk the chocolate packaged down, and headed up to the West Tower. His rounds were meant to be in the dungeon, but this was not his first time wandering the school at forbidden hours.

 

The Owlery was one of Tom’s least favourite place. Not that he ever truly had a reason to be there. Rather tens of large birds, crammed into a small tower, with bird dropping, mice skeletons and straw covering the ground was unsanitary and disgusting. Tom looked around the room, searching for the bird that came to him during the holidays. Finding it, the Tawny Owl, it seemed to remember him. Owls were oddly intelligent birds, “Take this to Tom Riddle’s room at Wool’s orphanage, to the boy that was there last time.” The owl bit his finger after he tied the package to its leg, probably in protest to Tom demanding it, rather than asking. He spelled a tracking charm onto the owl. He didn’t trust the school not to interfere with letters.

 

It took two days for the owl to return, it had nested for a night at the orphanage. Tom was acutely aware of the eyes on him when the owl dropped a letter at breakfast. The first time in the four years Tom had attended Hogwarts, that he received mail. Everyone knew he was the poor Slytherin orphan. It was not just the students either, may of the teachers, specifically Dumbledore, Slughorn and Dippet, who knew outwardly his dislike for his home - before the summer holidays each year, he requested to stay at Hogwarts - had eyes quietly on him. He pocketed the letter, he was not going to read it in the hall. He was sure it was his standing that stopped questions at that moment. Back in the common room, the questions would be raised. Slughorn, and maybe even Dumbledore, the noisy gits they are, would probably also ask in the future, regardless if it was their place.

 

He didn’t get a chance to read the letter until he was meant to be studying in the library.  Curiosity had prickled across his skin all day, the letter a constant weight in his pocket all day. Harry’s note was short, they had after all only been apart a few days, and Tom’s note had after all been a mere _‘I hope you enjoy, Tom.’_

 

 

_'Dear Tom,_

 

_I hope this letter finds you, I do not know how the owl finds people after all. I hope you are safe and well, and have settled into your school. I have still been diligently reading the books. I have also been employed down at the little bakery, by the couple that owns the store. Their daughter had to move for work to Wales, and they need a hand in the morning to prepare._

_Thank you so much for the chocolate, I’ve never had any before, and especially with the war. I do not know how you came by them. I fear things here will be getting worse, and your gift will lift many spirits here. Once again, thank you._

 

_Wishing you well, and best of luck with your studies._

_Sincerely, Harry.'_

 

Tom didn’t notice he was smirking, not admittedly in happiness from hearing from Harry, until he had felt it wipe off his face as he heard footsteps approach his direction. Pocketing the letter, he resumed reading the textbook as LeStrange, Nott and Roiser slipped into the free seats at his table. They didn't dare ask about the letter until the privacy of the common room later.

Tom was resting in a comfortable chair, book in lap when the approached. He didn't take his off the line he was reading. Avery was the bravest, well maybe nosiest of the group, and the one that asked, “So Tom, everyone wants to know who the letters from. Slughorn, the ever-prying slug he is, already tried to ask us who it was,”

LeStrange, the other sixth-year, laughed, “That man's hardly a Slytherin. Ambition for fame is the only trait he has.”

  
“And I hardly feel it is any of his business who writes to me,” Tom said, still reading, “It also none of yours either.” His tone was bored, but firm and probably slightly too defensive.

“Aw,” Roiser joked, drawing from Tom’s defensiveness “Has Tom got himself a girlfriend? Who is she? A pretty little French girl from Beauxbatons,”

“Or maybe it's a handsome Eastern European.” LeStrange said, “Passionate people. I'm sure they'd be a good fuck. Better than some bitch. I bet-”

Nott groaned, cutting him off, “Don't be so vulgar LeStrange. No one wants to hear it”

 

Something about LeStrange’s suggestion, the idea that he thought so disgustingly about Harry, even though LeStrange had no way of knowing him, irrationally irritated him. Tom slammed his book close and rose to his feet. The others were silent, waiting for Tom to speak again. Bitting his tongue, as to not make a fool of himself, he levelled them with a hateful and bitter look. He saw their expressions change, understanding not continue. Tom left for his room with a metallic taste in his mouth. If he responded, the irrationality of his thought would do more harm than good. It was unlikely they’d push the issue again for the time being. Spineless as they were.

The letter got stored in his wand box, the safest place for it, though it’d be very unlikely anyone could get through his wards. Tom continued writing back to Harry, the everyday stories of students that broke rules proved to be interesting tales of magic and its uses. The letters got longer and longer as time passed. Tom found himself commenting and complaining about annoyances. The major one being the looks Dumbledore and Slughorn had been sending him. At least once a week a reply from Harry was dropped on him at breakfast.

 

Christmas seemed to be fast approaching. Tom spent his time between prefect duties, studying and writing to Harry scouring the library. It was not a new phenomenon for him to spend most of his time in the library, top of his grade did not come completely without work. However, what he was searching for was most definitely not a part of the curriculum. He had been forced to admit last year that his magic was not from his father’s side. There had been no previous record of a Tom Riddle attending Hogwarts. During first, second and third year he had spent his time searching for any hint of his father’s name, the only piece of information anyone knew about his parents. His mother died pathetically on the steps of orphanage, leaving him cursed with his father’s filthy muggle fathers name. She may have been incapable of saving herself, but he would not die. Immortality and power were his only to requests.

 

And yet other wizards seemed to shy away from even mentioning the topic of immortality. Only books hidden away in the restricted section, dark ones that it was unlikely that Dippet even knew they were there, had alluded to the concept. Unicorn blood could extend a person’s life but would leave them cursed. For what was entailed with a cursed life was not described. The Philosophers’ Stone was the other method. Not a dark object they had been taught of the Elixir of Life in Alchemy, but it only preserved and extended a life, death still remained possible.

 

There was but one book. One book he sought to memorise as it held the answer. _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ The name itself had interested Tom when he noticed it in third year. The issue was, most books Tom had interest in, where hidden with power hexes, jinx’, and curses. Reading them was not a matter of simply reading them. He had learnt his lesson in first year, the first time he was allowed in the restricted section under the guide of Slughorn to be shown a potion. While Slughorn had been finding the page, Tom had out of interest compelled by a spell on the book, reached out to grab a book off the shelve, only to have his fingers burnt by a burning hex. He had been rushed to the hospital wing, embarrassed by his actions, he had been taught a useful lesson. So useful in fact because he approached Slughorn the next week, asking about ways to detect magic and its consequences, and Slughorn had gifted him with books on the topic out of guilt. By third year he when he found _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ had long since perfected the art of spell detection and disarmament.

 

Horcrux. A secret so terrible that its concept was hidden by the few people that knew its name. Yet it made Tom body tingle with excitement at every thought. Pertaining to magic so great, that only one creator had been known to exist. Herpo the Foul was a name Tom knew before, as one of the earliest dark wizards and the only creator known. And one day, Tom would overcome him.

 

* * *

 

 

Tom stood tall, with his glass in hand as he made polite conversation with a seventh year Ravenclaw. Close to the Christmas break, Slughorn held another gathering for gifted students. The Ravenclaw had approached Tom, making talk about potions. Riddle was well known for being one of brightest students in all the school years, and for being Slughorn favourite student, and it was not uncommon for others to approach him. Irritating as it was, it helped propagate a friendly image and endear him to the professors.

 

He was moved away from the conversation when Slughorn called, interrupted him, “Tom my boy, meet Arsenius Jigger. He is an old friend of mine. Used to teach here. I’m sure you’ll find him very interesting. Arsenius, this is Tom Riddle, the most gifted student I have met. I’m sure Tom will be very interested in you proposition.” Next to Slughorn stood a tall, stern looking man in well-made robes. He seemed to be scrutinising Tom head to toe.

  
Politely smiling, Tom played along, “Pleasure to meet you, Sir. I am Tom Riddle.”

 

“Yes, pleasure,” It sounded anything but. “Horace tells me you have a talent at potion making.”

 

Still smiling, Tom replied, “It is one of my strengths,”

 

“I would let him take his NEWT’s this year if it was possible,” Slughorn interjected.  

 

“During the winter break, would you like to assist me in my shop. For pay, of course, but one mistake and you’re out. Good experience. No one would deny a recommendation from me,”

 

“I’m sure you would also be very interested in his side work, Tom. He dabbles in the let’s say less explored area of potions,”

 

“Now Horace, you say it like that seems like I’m doing something bad,” Jigger replied, “I used to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, my interest is purely educational.”

 

“Well I was of course not implying anything untoward,” Slughorn said, diverting the conversation, “Now Tom I do believe it will be of interest for you to take up the offer. Such opportunities don’t come up often. Connections are a great thing to build.”

 

“I would be glad for the chance,” Not that he had a way to refuse without offending Slughorn.

 

“Well Riddle, expect my owl tomorrow.” Jigger nodded towards Tom and then looked over to the other guest Slughorn had invited “Horace, I do believe I see Amelia. I wish to have a word with her.”

 

After Jigger left Slughorn seem to preen with pride “Originally, I was going to suggest an upper year,” Slughorn said, turning to Tom, clearly proud of himself. “But I’ve noticed the little notes you’ve been receiving Tom. Now, I know of your situation and there’s nothing like being able to impress your partner with some gifts,” Tom felt his eyes widen accidentally, giving away his surprise and making Slughorn laugh. “Now, now, don’t worry Tom. It can be our little secret, no one suspects a thing. I have a special sense for these things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I honestly don't believe Slytherins even have shared dorms. Stuck up purebloods I can't imagine them sharing.  
> As always let me know what you think in the comments or if I made a mistake. Or if I'm confusing.  
> And thanks to everyone who subscribed, left kudos and/or comment.


	6. Chapter 5 - Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance

There were few times when Tom felt truly exhausted, but now was one of these times. Slughorn was a bigger nuisance than expected, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. Changing out from his nicest robes, he mulled over his situation. He had planned on doing research during the holiday break. He had been lax on considering the mystery that was Harry’s magical abilities and his non-acceptance to Hogwarts knowing that at Christmas he had considerable free time to look into it. But now Slughorn’s interference left him with a job he hadn’t wanted. He could only hope Jigger would provide useful information or experience. And the money wouldn’t go astray.

Everything he owned for school, was brought by the school itself. There was a couple of books brought by others as presents for Christmas, most of them boring drabble on basic spells. There were a few interesting ones. Abraxas Malfoy had gifted him a rather grotesque book on potions before he had graduated. _Moste Potente Potions_ was the most interesting book he had. While, at the moment, he had no use for the potions it contained, it was well worth owning. Perhaps he could begin to buy his own “extracurricular” readings.

* * *

 

As told, the next morning a small scops owl dropped a parchment down in front of him. The script, besides from being written on parchment, and far too neat for it to be Harry’s, giving away that it must have been from Jigger. Unfolding the parchment, Jigger had been blunt with his directions and instructions. Jigger’s shop was in Hogsmeade. He’d start in three days, two weeks before Christmas break, and work through the Christmas holidays. He’d be paid a decent wage for the teen he was, Jiggers business was hardly struggling financially. When he worked during school, he’d only need to be there for a couple of hours, Slughorn would class it as a replacement for his potion homework. During the holidays, he’d get Christmas and New Year’s off, and work for most of the day. He’d be completing the delivery’s, man the front desk, and making some simple potions.

Only, that all meant Tom would be doing spells outside Hogwarts, and the Hogsmeade weekends that ministry had extended the de-monitorisation of the trace to.

But now he had a reason to gather some information he was after.

It was after potions, when Tom approached Slughorn. The old man was fumbling with closing a jar of beetle eyes when Tom stood some distance behind him, “Sir,” he called, causing the other to jump and turn, “I was wondering if I could ask you a question if that is alright.”

Slughorn grinned, “Of course Tom, just make it quick, you have a class to attend,”

“Well Sir, it’s just with the work with Jigger, won’t the Trace be triggered? There’s not much information in the library regarding it, but I would be performing magic outside school and outside the Hogsmeade weekends. I wouldn’t want to be accused of underage magic.”

Slughorn glanced around the room, before ushering Tom closer. Tom grew intrigued, he knew he was about to get the answers he wanted. “As you know Tom, I know quite a lot of people. Edwin Nott, his father is one of them and he works in the Ministry’s Improper Use of Magic Office. Well, as a friend to a friend, I was informed by him that due to the War in the Muggle war, and Grindelwald that the trace is, in fact, removed. The whole department is now being used to monitor the movements of known Grindelwald fanatics. Oh, and of course, Unforgivable’s.” Tom felt the desire to straggle Nott. He had only heard a sliver of information once about this before the fool had started Rosier. Mechanically smiling Tom thanked him, promising to keep it secret.

He also had LeStrange hex Nott and Rosier later that night.

* * *

 

Tom’s first day was spent with Jigger staring over his shoulder, monitoring and checking every move he made. Feeling smug, Tom could tell Jigger was impressed. Tom may not have made every potion he had come across in his studies, but he had analysed each and every one of them. From the simplest Cure for Boils to the Polyjuice potion described _Moste Potente,_ he knew them better than the back of his hand. It wasn’t without study that he became proficient at potions, and all his other subjects.

As days passed, and presumably, Jigger gained confidence in Tom’s abilities as he began to leave him alone to do his own work.

“Riddle” he heard Jigger yell from the back room, “Come here.” Jigger’s office was surprisingly clean, despite the dark coloured coverings and old furniture that gave it a dirty look. The books that lined the walls gave the room a musky scent. Jigger sat leaning over a pile of paperwork, quill in hand as he continued to write. He didn’t look up to acknowledge Tom’s entry. 

“Sir, what do you need?” Tom asked politely, “I already sent Mrs Greengrass her potion, and Mr Burbage came by earlier to collect his,” he informed him of his already completed part of his duties. He would have continued but Jigger wasn’t interested.

“No, that’s not what I’m interested in,” Jigger snapped, still writing, and Tom could feel his own anger grow at the rudeness. “I’m filling in forms for the ministry, and I need your full name and signature,”

“May I ask what for, Sir,” he inquired respectfully.

Jigger clicked his tongue before replying, “Declaration of business and employment,”

“It’s Tom Marvolo Riddle, Sir,” he was careful not to let his irritation show. His name always sounded revoltingly plain, even with his unusual middle name.

This did get Jigger to look up. “Marvolo. A Gaunt, are you?” he seemed to be scrutinising Tom. Gaunt was not a name he could easily remember coming across in his studies of magical names back in first year.

 “No, I don’t believe so.” Tom denied it was unnecessary and dangerous for his end goals for people to make the connection to who he may or may not be related too. In this case, Tom didn’t know which one it was.  “I live with muggles. Marvolo is from a well-known muggle writer Shakespeare’s character Malvolio.” it was disgusting every time to admit out loud that he lived with muggles. When he was younger, he had believed his name came from Shakespeare, but when Dumbledore arrived from Hogwarts he had overheard Mrs Cole inform Dumbledore his mother had said it was after his grandfather. Tom Riddle after his father. His father, Tom had to acknowledge, had not been a wizard. He had not ever thought to follow his middle name, what a fool he had been.

“Yes, Horace told me of your situation. You look and act nothing like a Gaunt anyway. Far too sane” He shoved a paper over to Tom, and he’d out his quill, “Sign this,” Tom did so silently and was left as he was dismissed afterwards. The whole-time Tom was running through memories for any details of a Gaunt family. He could think of nothing but some vague references, none recent. Their prominence that died in the 1600’s, with little information before or after. Tom had never heard any of the pureblood Slytherin’s discuss the Gaunt family. Their relation beyond the “Sacred Twenty-Eight” was unknown, and the book that sparked the belief of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was not in the Hogwarts library.

* * *

 

It was Christmas and Tom had no special feelings towards the holiday. Christmas at the orphanage had been as bleak as every other day for him. Maybe it was even worse than a normal day, due to the small hopeful joy it had brought the other children. Awaking on Christmas of 1941, he didn’t even bother to look at the pile, knowing it would be full of the same sweets and literature as bribes as always. He went about getting prepared for the day, and as breakfast started late, he began to sort through the small pile when he saw one gift out of place. Wrapped with boring brown baking parchment, compared to the vibrant presents, the lumpy package was tied with a green ribbon. The card on top had the messy handwriting he knew as Harry’s. A few days ago, his spell had indicated that the owl was briefly interrupted by a house elf. He still received the normal letter from Harry, untouched by anyone, and there was nothing he could do about the brief interaction. Presumably, the elf must be the to collect the incoming gifts.

Tom picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling out the card envelope read _Tom M. Riddle_ , and the writing on the inside of the card was short, they wrote as often as possible as it was.

_‘Dear Tom,  
Thank you for the most fantastically magical year of my life._

_I look forward too many more wonderful years to come._

_Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Harry.’_

Tugging on the ribbon that held together the package revealed an emerald green knitted scarf. Tom knew instantly Harry had made it. There was such an air of attention and care that had been put into its making, that it made it completely different to anything he had received before. Rather than the thoughtless bribes he had received throughout the years, the scarf was special and unique, made with him in mind. He cradled it in both his hands and as he wrapped it around his neck, he could smell even the scent he knew as Harry. For that very second, it felt as he had breathed a breath of fresh air and he could only name the feeling as longing. Tom neither wanted to remove the scarf or for anyone to know of its existence. Something about it triggered an overwhelming greed and need for secrecy.

He closed his eyes, lying back on the bed. Tom changed his plans to look into Harry tonight. The teachers would be entirely intoxicated as they were each year after Christmas dinner. It was a risk, if someone learnt of his inquest tonight, there would be little people to blame. The Professors, outside Dumbledore who was already suspicious of him, would have a reason to be. But doing it now, he would not have to use the others and inform the others of his reasons. Originally, he’d have Rosier and Avery make a sound distraction, LeStrange make a commotion in another place. Get them to have a mudblood to slip down the stairs, curse a statue, hex someone, nothing too out of place. They hadn’t been able to pin it on them yet. After years of sneaking through Hogwarts undetected, discovering its secrets, he was confident he would be able to make it. So far, he had found 5 passages out of the school, and there were many more littered about for quicker transportation through the school.

Now he had to face a breakfast with the staff and few students of the school. He had to steady himself for the headache of entertaining their image of him. He re-tied the gift, putting the scarf safely in his trunk before straightening his tie again, and leaving for breakfast. Tom was one of nineteen students that that stayed. Most of the other students were upper years that stayed to study for their exams. There were only two other Slytherin’s, the two-top performing seventh years. Tom didn’t have to even speak to them during the break, they had their noses in their notes constantly.

Tom smiled as he answered questions throughout the meal for the professors. He was gratefully seated at the other end of the large group table, and Tom could avoid questions from the prying transfiguration professor. He almost escaped afterwards too. Except that Dumbledore called out to him, forcing him to stop in his track. The other students and staff who were also exiting the hall had definitely heard him being called for, ignoring Dumbledore would make him seem impolite and rude, the opposing the personality he was working to project.

He felt his expression shift briefly to one of annoyance before he quickly schooled his look and turned to smile at Dumbledore. “Sir,” he acknowledged, “Happy Holidays,”

“Yes, Merry Christmas to you too Tom. The holidays are always a joyful time,” Dumbledore replied. Most of the other students and teachers were clearing from the area, and Tom happy to encounter his prying questions in relative privacy. “I heard from Horace that you’re working now at Jigger’s making potions. That must be an incredible opportunity.” All the teachers had known of Tom’s selection, none having questions as to why a younger year had been chosen, as he was likely the best and brightest student the school had seen in decades.

Tom smiled tightly, whenever Dumbledore bothered to speak to him, he was always searching for something. “Yes, it is.” There was no need to say much, Dumbledore would carry the conversation himself, not that he cared for what he knew was fake pleasantries that Tom said unless it got him closer to his goal.

Dumbledore watched him, looking for any sort of information, as Tom tried to avoid his prying eyes. “This year must have been more than pleasant, you received a gift from home I noticed” Tom’s head jerked towards Dumbledore, panicking he had found something out about Harry. Riddle had been watching the surrounding colouring changing Christmas decorations that provided reasonable alternative viewing.  He had looked over the half-moon glasses that set perched on the end of Dumbledore’s nose, meeting Dumbledore’s bright sparkling blue eyes for a just a second, before he had regretted it instantly. He had felt just a slither of information being stolen from his head, not enough to construct an image of Harry, not even enough to learn Harry’s name, just enough for Dumbledore to see a blur of a figure back at the orphanage in Tom’s head. The walls of his mind flew up in response to the invasion and Tom looked away. He still wasn’t skilled to keep the walls permanently built around his mind. He could feel his heart racing in fear of discovery and in anger at himself of being stupid enough to look at the old fool, and at Dumbledore and his interfering. Dumbledore was clearly aware of Tom’s annoyance but continued anyway. “I get along quite well with the House Elves you see, and I normally mail to your resentence to see if they wish to pass along a gift, but Pokey told me they’d already collected one in a non-magical wrapping,”

“That is so professor,” remarked Tom casually, “I did receive a gift from outwards, a friend that has already graduated sent something through. A muggle-born, you see, they don’t always use a magical style of decoration” he lied, Harry was a secret Tom was determined to keep from Dumbledore if possible.

“Ah, of course,” said Dumbledore, looking as happy and carefree as the old man usually did, “Well, don’t let me bother you anymore, I’m sure you students have plans,”

Tom nodded as he left, “Yes, thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

 

* * *

 

The large clock that adorned the wall of the Slytherin common room read Two-Thirty-Three as Tom slipped out of the door and down the pitch-black dungeons hallway. He knew the root towards the Great Hall better than the back of his hand and navigated it seamlessly despite the darkness. He had already cloaked himself in a Disillusionment Charm, as with most charms, he was an expert at it. When he looked at himself in the mirrors of the dormitory, he seemed completely invisible even to himself, rather than just camouflaged with the surroundings.  On other occasions, he had walked through the common-room without anyone taking notice and left without any concern. He had no reason to fear being spotted by the portraits, any teacher he would preferably not encounter, or the caretaker.

He had read about his destination in an old book about the acceptance of children into Hogwarts. The abandoned tower’s entrance was located on the sixth floor, forgotten by most that passed by it, it was of little interest to students who had to rush to and from class. Emerging from the dungeons, Tom knew the halls were more generously lit, allowing the patrolling perfect and teachers to see without the constant use of the Lumos Charm.  Thankfully, he made his way to the tower without any issues and completely unnoticed. The door was unremarkable, it blended wall. With an easy Alohomora, the door swung open without protest and Tom used his wand to light the passage. He ascended the spiralling stone steps and the room that lay at the top had a single large desk, with an empty high-back chair behind it. On top, he could see the Quill of Acceptance floating in its place above the Book of Admittance. Every student of Hogwarts, past and present, the name was recorded in the book, without fail or fault. On that bases, Harry’s name should be recorded within it, for the year of Tom’s acceptance or the years before.

The book would unlikely yield its contents to Tom without issue. Focusing, he performed in quick succession a strong Confundus Charm upon both the book and the quill, giving him time to tamper with the book. He moved quickly, flicking through the preceding years before discovering he found his own name for the year of 1938, Harry’s name was missing, for that year and the years of 1937, 1936 and 1935. It was impossible for Harry to be older than that, however, he pointed his wand and whispered that spell that should find the name he spoke following it “Potter”. The book flicked back to Fleamont the last Potter to attend Hogwarts, and Tom ground his teeth in frustration. He had already known of Fleamont and the father by the name of Henry. Tom went to back away from the book before another thought struck him, while Riddle lacked any mention, Jigger had been triggered to think of the Gaunt family after hearing his middle name.

He focused his wand on the book again and repeated “Marvolo”.

It indeed revealed results. On an old page the name _Marvolo Gaunt_ stood out, not for the variation in writing, all the names were written in the same neat script of the quill, but rather as it was crossed out, with a note at the side that read _Rejected_ in a hand other than the quill. The pages turned again through the centuries, each time Marvolo appeared it was connected the last name of Gaunt. It appeared Jigger had been correct in his association of the name, but whether Tom was related was still an unknown.

He descended the stairs of the tower and headed towards the stairs that connected the sixth and seventh floors to the dungeons. As he began his way down, he heard the steps of another in front of him. He paused and listened again, and the faint noise of a heel on stone could be heard before the voice of a portrait “Albus,” it tried to whisper quietly so no one could hear “Someone exited a tower on the sixth floor, Sir Harold’s portrait saw them enter and leave.” Of course, Dumbledore was up and about at this hour, he was known to wander the hallways, Tom often saw him during his rounds pacing a path around the castle. He heard Dumbledore thank the portrait before he must have continued onwards towards Toms current location.

Tom turned on his heels and raced silently up the steps, he passed the sixth floor, guessing that was where Albus should be headed. He emerged on the seventh floor. While the corridor was scarcely lit, Tom paused to think of a place to escape to, a place to escape to. He was unsure how Dumbledore would proceed, but he knew that the old man had more tricks up his sleeve then he did, due to the age disparity, it was likely Dumbledore could dispel charms wandlessly. If Tom descended back down, he may just encounter Dumbledore again, if he continued, the seventh and sixth corridor link at the other end as well, again leading him to perhaps face Dumbledore. Albus also knew the person had left the tower, so why should he inspect it first instead of finding the person out of bed? As he though in those few seconds, he had turned back and forth between the stairs where he had just emerged and the rest of the seventh floor. As he turned again towards the rest of the corridor, he was amazed to find a door where previously there was none. He glanced back to where he had originated from, to once again hear an almost silent footfall on the step, and regardless of the magic of this room, he moved in the opposite direction. The door vanished as he made his escape down the corridor, looping the long way down to the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing, I hadn't considered how long it had been. I feel like I'm always writing with uni so I hadn't thought it was so long ago I posted. I was wrong.  
> I hope you all keep with the story, you have all been so kind, I sorry you all had to wait

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please comment, subscribe, kudos etc.  
> Criticism and advise welcome.  
> Thank you.


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